"why..."

"asking, "why God?"
didn't make me a bad Christian,
it made me a kid,
who needs my dad..."

Oh my. Austin French's new song,  "Why God,"  adds one more perspective on a question I have been sitting with for a couple of years.

That question has to do with Jesus' instruction in Matthew:

"After this manner,
pray ye..."

I've explored this injunction from so many angles. I have asked colleagues, friends, and mentors for their insights. I have stopped myself -- over and over again -- from praying out "the words" only. I have asked myself: Is this vain repetition? Are you in your closet? Are you praying to be heard of men -- or women? Are you praying "about God," or in conversation "with God?"

But there was something about  watching Austin's video today, that sent a shiver of something real through me. It has to do with this song's connection to the opening words of the Lord's Prayer, "Our Father..." and this above-quoted line from the video, "it made me a kid, who needs my dad."

I felt it. In that moment I could feel the manner of prayer. I am a child, in conversation with her father. Her (as Jesus called God) "Abba" - which translates, "daddy or papa." It could also be mommy or mama.

I know this feeling. I know how delighted I am to have our children come to us with their questions -- about anything. And I know that it isn't just our best stab at human answers that are meaningful to them, it is more about the way we listen to them -- with our entire whole-hearted love and focused attention.

A parent's love honors their child's questions. A parent does not see the question as a failing on their (or their child's) part, but simply an opportunity to deepen their relationship with one another. Sometimes, there are no words in the answers, and sometimes there are no answers, just oneness.

When our children ask the "why" questions, our hearts open up with such a softness. I can only imagine our Father-Mother God's infinite tenderness when we bring our "why" questions to Him/Her.

And to be honest, sometimes, to feel that tenderness is the only answer we really need. To feel heard -- and held. And often, the answer is simply that feeling itself -- of being in relationship with my Father-Mother God. And most times, it is the entire answer.  "Lo, I am with you - alway."  

Right where the "why" question tries to insinuate that I am asking because, "I don't know..." I find that, I do know. I know exactly where to turn. I know precisely Who to take my hurt, my uncertainty, my aching heart, and my "why" questions to. Asking "why," brings me home -- again and again. This longing -- causes me to curl into my divine Parent's arms -- and to be held.  This deeply intimate connection with God -- is the manner, after which I pray.

That is my "why."  


offered with Love,

Cate 

"be it far from thee Lord..."

"All my devotion,
and misguided loyalty;
swinging my sword
in the garden,
while you pray
for your enemies..."

A few years ago, I found a wonderful collection of contemporary Christian songs called, "The Story." I often find fresh perspective on Scriptural stories from them. Dan Haseltine and Matt Hammett's song,  "Empty"  was a beautiful compliment to my study of the Easter story this morning.

I was reading outside the lines -- beyond the citations of Scripture that were recommended for study -- and remembered an experience I had some years ago. The son we'd been in the process of adopting had been taken back by his birthmother and I was devastated. I hadn't held back in loving him. He had my heart. There were moments when I could step back and see the bigger spiritual picture, and they other times when I just felt empty.

Friends and family members were loving and supportive. Sometimes that support came in the guise of outrage at what we'd gone through. It was easy to slip into the arms of their commiseration and be assured that it just wasn't fair.  It wasn't fair -- we'd done everything "right," and now, here we were with an empty nursery and broken hearts. Their sympathy was comforting.

But one week, while considering the disciple Peter's career-trajectory - as one of Jesus' closest companions. I thought  about his eagerness, his persistence, and his bumpy road from fisherman to fisher of men. I discovered that two of the accounts appear back-to-back in the 16th chapter of Matthew's gospel:

"When Jesus came into the coasts of Cæsarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?

And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist: some, Elias; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets.

He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am?

And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.

And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Bar–jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven. And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven..."

and

"From that time forth began Jesus to shew unto his disciples, how that he must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and be raised again the third day.

Then Peter took him, and began to rebuke him, saying, Be it far from thee, Lord: this shall not be unto thee. But he turned, and said unto Peter, Get thee behind me, Satan: thou art an offence unto me: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men.

In the first instance, we have Peter identifying Jesus correctly as, "the Christ, the son of the living God," -- and then when he tries to defend Jesus, saying that it would be wrong for a man of such goodness as Jesus to be arrested and crucified, he is rebuked by his Master, and called "Satan."  Something about that story hit me like a cup of cold water -- being thrown in my face.

In the breadth of a heartbeat, I knew I could no longer accept the sympathy of those who loved me, as if I were a victim -- small, vulnerable, shattered, and broken. Oh yes, I was so very grateful for their love, and I could appreciate their intent, but I could no longer accept this version of my own story -- one that painted me as a casualty of someone else's choices, decisions, mistakes. It deprived me of my own God-sent journey. It was a denial of my right to see myself as whole, and to exchange a crucified sense of my mommy story - the cradle song and natal hour, for a resurrected sense of  genuine motherhood -- unmoved, unwavering, unshaken.

I believe that Jesus knew that for him to lean into Peter's "be it far from thee Lord," was to allow space for the breach -- the suggestion that for even one moment of his life, his story was out of God's supreme control. Peter's righteous indignation only soothed the personal ego -- it had no life in Christ.

Jesus doesn't call Pilate "Satan" -- nor the the priests who were behind his arrest, or Judas who led his captors to him. They were not the "problem." The real snake was the ego -- that which seeks to be defended.  The false narrative that would suggest that his life mission was a series of "whew, dodged another mortal bullet." These were the real enemy of the Christ -- his eternal manhood as God's own beloved son.

I can't even begin to tell you how many times this insight has blessed me in the ensuing 30 years. Whether it is my own self-sympathy when facing a challenge, or the well-intentioned "not you..." offered by a friend or loved one, it doesn't take long to remember that, as Mary Baker Eddy promises in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, next to the marginal heading, "Uses of suffering":

"The sharp experiences of belief in the supposititious life of matter, as well as our disappointments and ceaseless woes, turn us like tired children to the arms of divine Love. Then we begin to learn Life in divine Science..."

I want to learn life in divine Science. If my disappointments and ceaseless woes are the beginning of a new lesson -- bring them on! I will try to receive them with the same clear sense and calm trust that Jesus teaches us.

Whenever I begin feeling sorry for myself, wondering "why" I am facing this problem or that challenge, I re-visit the chapter, "Atonement and Eucharist" in Eddy's Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures - again.  It always reminds me why I love being a scientist, and how grateful I am for each opportunity to deepen my trust in the law of Love within the laboratory of human experience.

This chapter of Jesus' story -- the neglect, betrayal, arrest, crucifixion -- was the ultimate platform for proving his love for his Father, his trust in God's care, and for modeling the love that triumphs over hate, despair, pain, and fear.

offered with Love,

Kate

"to forgive..."

"do you want to be free,
do you want to believe,
do you want breathe again,
live again, love again..." 

I was scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed when my eyes caught the title of a post on the Sojourner blogsite, "Are Christians Supposed to Forgive Abusers?"

It made me think of Sara Renner's hauntingly beautiful song, "Forgive".  It is a song that has brought such healing peace to me over the years.

But it also reminded me of an experience I had over 25 years ago.  I was on a panel of speakers addressing the topic of addiction from a spiritual perspective.

We were fielding questions from the audience when a young mother stood up and asked, "What if my husband is abusive while using drugs, do I leave him -- or do I need to stay and pray for him?  I love him but I don't know how to forgive him?"

The auditorium became silent.  For some reason, the rest of the panelists turned to me -- perhaps because I was the oldest on the panel and a woman.  But I felt trapped.  I'd witnessed  so much abuse in my life.  I didn't know what to say.  The atmospheric pressure in that hall felt heavy and demanding.

I stopped breathing and sat in the absolute stillness of my true being -- not a girl who'd been molested, not the young woman who'd been beaten unconscious -- but the daughter of God.  Someone who had never been touched by anger or fear.  One whose right to love had never been violated or stunted by trauma.

But what should I say? What could I say?  The theme of the conference was, "The Love that Heals."  And that was the thought that filled me like a soaring balloon. Whatever I said, it had to be about Love -- at every point.

I heard myself begin slowly, "Sometimes we have to love someone enough to separate ourselves from them when they are behaving -- or making choices -- that we absolutely know they will regret when they awaken from the dream of a false sense of who they are.  We have to love them enough to say "no" in a way that doesn't allow them to act out those hideous lies in our presence.

In that moment, it became as clear as day to me -- Love is always the motive.  Sometimes we have to leave.  Not because we hate or despise the other person, but because we love them too much to let them use us in a way that they will regret. Not because we are afraid, but because we love their true nature.  

We walk away from being a witness to any violation of their deepest humanity.  We remove the opportunity for self-loathing. We let nothing obscure their path to self-forgiveness.

This wasn't just a cool thought.  It was visceral.  I felt the truth of this inspiration course through every vein in my body.

I didn't need to forgive the perpetrators of my abuse, or the abuse of others -- I needed to love them enough to not let my human thinking about them -- and our story -- get in the way of their direct and immediate relationship with God, divine Love.

In her "Daily Prayer," Mary Baker Eddy asks us to give up our right to be the forgiver, the savior, the assessor, the judge and jury:

"Thy kingdom come,
let the reign of divine Truth, Life, and Love 
be established in me, and rule out of me all sin,
and may Thy Word enrich the affections 
of all mankind and govern them."

As I sat there listening to the other panelists share their thoughts, in response to her question, it all began to make sense to me.  My job wasn't to figure out whether someone deserved my love, my forgiveness, or even my consent to their right to experience God's mercy -- my job was to trust God's direct and unwavering presence in their hearts.  It is God's province -- not mine -- to make someone aware of their mistakes, to correct those lies, to move them beyond behavior that was regrettable.  It is God's love that frees them from the bondage of falsely identifying themselves.

What I could do, was deprive anyone of "me" - as a prop in their dream.  And I could do that out of love, not out of fear or anger.

I could separate them from my hurt feelings -- and thereby separate myself from them as well.  I could forgive - forego - any sense of sin -- a word which shares the same etymological root as the word "sunder, to separate" I could forego the belief that I, or anyone else, could ever be separated from God as Love.

I could set clear boundaries for what was acceptable behavior from a child of God.  I could love enough to not let someone violate those boundaries -- with me.

This was not about letting go, but letting God.  It was about loving more, not less.  It made room for healing and restoration.  It opened the door to redemption and promise.

What it boiled down to -- was Love.  Love, love love love love.

This insight has helped me more times than I can say.

When someone asks, "Do you forgive me?" I am perplexed and stunned by the question. I can't help but remember Jesus' beautiful plea from the cross:

"Father forgive them..." 

He doesn't say: "Father, show me how to forgive them." But Father, forgive them.   The forgiveness is all Thine.  

In referring to this Scripture, Mary Baker Eddy states in her last published work, The First Church of Christ, Scientist and Miscellany: 

"In our struggles with sin and sinners, 

the we drop compliance with their desires, 

insist on what we know is right, and act

accordingly, the disguised or the self-satisfied

mind, not ready to be uplifted, rebels, 

misconstrues our best motives, and calls 

them unkind.  But this is the cross.  Take it up,

-- it wants the crown; and in the spirit of our 

great Exemplar pray: 

"Father, forgive them; 
for they know not

what they do." 

In each of these profoundly practical statements of inspiration and guidance, we are looking at the most currently recorded words of two deeply spiritual mentors: Jesus and Mary Baker Eddy - on the subject of forgiveness.  

Forgiveness is "of the Father."  For me, Eddy's "Daily Prayer," and Jesus' example from the cross, are the highest sense of forgiveness known to man.  Forgiveness is not mine to give. It happens in the sacred sanctuary of one's relationship with the Father.  

While it is our privilege to step back -- and let the dear Christ enter in -- to heal.    

offered with Love,

Kate 

"Are you out there somewhere..."

"Sometimes I think about you.
And I wonder if you're out there, 
somewhere,
thinking about me.

And would you even recognize
the woman that your little girl
has grown up to be..."

I fell in love with Kellie Pickler during her tenure on ABC's Dancing with the Stars. I'd never listened to her music.  But after watching her breath-taking performance -- with partner Derrick Hogue -- I couldn't help wanting to understand the woman behind the feelings she shared so nakedly.

When I finally came across her heart-breaking "I Wonder," it was almost too much to bear.

It reached deep inside of me, and touched a place I thought I'd long-since silenced, and buried alive. So much so that I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be the "me," that I thought she was singing about. Almost...

I am writing this post, not to resurrect sadness and pain, but to encourage others who may be feeling helpless and alone.

Here's my story:

I was four the year that my birthfather disappeared from my life. The details of how that happened -- and why -- are not pertinent to this post. When I turned eighteen I saw him for the first time in over 14 years.  We had a brief visit at a park. And afterwards, he evaporated. Then at 36, just after the birth of my first child, I found him again. And again, he chose to disappear after an emotionally draining reunion.

I grew up with a stepfather who provided for all eight of the children he shared with my mother. Six of us were his own biological children.  My sister and I were from our mother's first marriage. Nevertheless, resources were shared equally and I never knew hunger, homelessness, or grave illness. For this, I will always be grateful.

But I also grew up knowing that I was not his "real" daughter.  I knew that somewhere - out there - I had a father. I had fleeting memories of being held in his arms, pushed on a swing -- loved. I dreamed that if only he knew where I was, he would come find me and love me.

In the end - after our first awkward reunion - I would have to be the one to find him. And each time, he would tearfully tell me that he loved me.  He would say how much he wished he would have been there for my childhood -- to see me grow into the woman I'd become. He'd stir up girlhood hopes and sorrows and then disappear on a cloud of promises -- never to be heard from again -- until the next time.

A year ago my sister sent me an email. She'd discovered that our father had passed away 16 months earlier. I was devastated.  Feelings of devastation that I could have never anticipated.  All hopes of him caring about me, showing interest in my children, pride in my accomplishments -- were gone.

I grew up in an instant. I was no longer a little girl secretly dreaming that her own father would someday - finally - wake up, and discover that he missed her. I was a woman who'd worked very hard to be a good person in hopes that one day he would notice -- he never did.

For fifty years I'd secretly never given up hope.  Suddenly, I felt bereft. And it wasn't just about me and what I had missed out on. I was sad for him. I knew I wasn't "all that," but I had been a good girl, a hard-working student, a loyal daughter, and a good mom. He'd missed it all.

I didn't know what to do with those feelings. On the outside -- and in those first few layers of patted down emotions just below the surface -- I was fine. But deep inside I was a waif. I was a woman-child who'd never been cherished by her father, and now it was too late.  It was too much to bear.

Sorrow, anger, and confusion bounced off the walls of my heart and echoed through the empty chambers of all I'd lost. I could no longer push it down without experiencing unbearable pain. I knew I had to find a way to process it spiritually, or it would take me down.

Mary Baker Eddy's Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures was my constant companion in the darkness. One night I revisited a long-loved statement:

"A mother’s affection
cannot be weaned from her child,
because the mother-love includes
purity and constancy,
both of which are immortal.
Therefore maternal affection
lives on
under whatever difficulties." 

I've often thought about how this statement empowers both mother and child. If a mother's affection cannot be weaned from her child, then a child's affection cannot be weaned from her mother. Eddy promises that this truth lives on under whatever difficulties -- immortally, eternally, forever. Lives on beyond the false limitations of death. Beyond whatever difficulties.

My right to love my father -- to want him to know his beautiful daughters, to feel part of a family, to know himself as a good father -- was something he couldn't take from me.  It was mine.  My affection for the office of father wasn't going to be defined by his behavior. My love for my own sweet, innocent daughterhood couldn't be undermined by neglect -- or apathy.

The blighted buddings of hope in me started to blossom again. My right to be a good daughter was as changeless as God's appointment of me to that office. I could pray for my father's heart. I could include him in a spiritual expectation of good, as Eddy counsels us to pray in the second line of her "Daily Prayer," which reads:

"And may Thy Word
enrich the affections of all mankind,
and govern them." 

My father's affections were under the immortal influence of God's Word. They were constantly evolving -- higher and higher -- from a boundless basis. Death could not interrupt his spiritual self-discovery.  Nothing could deprive him of all  the blessings that fatherhood promised -- not even death. And likewise, death could not undermine my childlike hope, innocence, trust.

This clear message of love from my divine Parent - for His perfect daughter - began to heal my heart and empower me.  Nothing could stop me from exercising the right to honor my own affections -- for my father, my stepfather, all fathers.  Not because of their deserving, but because of my own right to be true to myself.

I now know that there is never a lost opportunity to love.

shared with a daughter's affection,

Kate

"the evidence..."

"Now that you're full
of love beyond measure
your joy's gonna flow
like a stream in the desert..."

Casting Crowns hit another home run with "The Well." It's a powerful message of promise -- the promise, that what we are looking for is already found deep within us. 

What lies outside of us, will never fill the void, and will never be the substance of what we are really searching for.

Last weekend I had an epiphany. I was reading the familiar Scripture from Hebrews:

"Now, faith is the substance
of things hoped for,
the evidence of things
not seen."

And as I read it, it seemed as if four words were "in bold" on the page, so that it looked something like this:

"Now, faith is the substance
of things hoped for,
the evidence of things
not seen."

I could barely catch my breath. How was it possible that I'd not seen this before? All this time I'd been looking for evidence -- it had been there all along.

But I am getting ahead of myself.  That day I'd been feeling a bit discouraged.  I'd been praying about a persistent challenge, and the evidence of healing wasn't apparent.     

Looking down at that Scripture, and suddenly realizing that "faith" is the only evidence I needed to look for -- or be concerned with finding -- took my breath away.  Faith is defined as "trust in the unseen."  I had no doubt that I trusted in the unseen power of God -- of Love.   And to discover that this trust in God was the only evidence I needed to be seeking...  Well, it rendered me speechless.

To have faith in the substance of the unseen -- by its very nature -- requires trust. In fact, Mary Eddy reminds us, in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, that

"In Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and English, faith and the words corresponding thereto have these two definitions, trustfulness and trustworthiness."

So, this would mean that my trustfulness in God and in His trustworthiness, were the evidence of good I'd been looking for.  The evidence -- or proof -- I thought I'd find in an improved physical, emotional, financial, global situation, was not the evidence at all. My deepening trust in God was -- and is.  I could rest my search.

For so long, I had been thinking of faith as a means to an end. In other words: I had faith, I trusted God, and because of this trust, the outward picture -- the evidence -- would change or improve.

But my faith, my trust in God, was already the evidence I'd long been seeking. Feeling an abiding, unshakeable trust in His love for His creation was all the evidence I needed. And it is always within me. It is never "out there." It is never something to be gotten.  It is never something to be found.  Whenever I'm tempted to look at what I am able to see/hear/feel as the evidence of God's love, I can stop and  immediately turn inward to realize my always-present trust in Him.

I feel like I am "lisping in numbers" here. There are no words to explain the deep peace and joy this has brought to my heart, my work, and my life.

Whether I am looking at my body, our balance sheet, the geo-political climate, the changing environment, or a once-broken heart, I can always stop and re-focus. I need to start with the more important question, "do I have faith in God, do I trust?" If my honest answer is "Yes," I have all the evidence I need.

My understanding of God's nature -- which is the basis of my trust in Him -- is all that will ever be eternally mine. I want to understand eternal Life.  I want to know why Mary Baker Eddy's last words were, "God is my Life."

A longer timeline in this chapter of my life story is not the evidence that will sustain me eternally. A better body, financial abundance, the right house, a perfect marriage, obedient children, professional success are lovely, but they are not eternal.

They are not the evidence I am seeking. They are, like the wake behind a boat.  They come along. But, they say nothing about my faith in the unseen. They tell me nothing about my trust in God, or my understanding of Him. And it is knowing Him and my trust in what He is to me, that is the only evidence I am taking into eternity.

I think of Jesus from the summit of the cross. He didn't demonstrate his release from Pilate's captivity or the Pharisees' hatred. He didn't heal Judas of betrayal, or Peter of his denial. He wasn't able to keep his friends awake in Gethsemane, or protect his mother from the agony of watching her son crucified, but none of these things could undermine his trust in his Father's love for him. If that was evidence enough for him, it's evidence enough for me.

There's so much more to this insight that I don't have words for.  This Scripture is dancing in my heart tonight. And I've just run out of words. I feel like I am starting from scratch. Reading the Bible and Science and Health feels like a new adventure in what it really means to simply know and trust God -- with all my heart, and soul, and mind.

with the substance of faith,

Kate

"I'm gonna watch you shine..."

"I'm gonna watch you shine.
Gonna watch you grow.
Gonna paint a sign,
so you'll always know...
As long as one and one is two,
there could never be a father
who loved his daughter
more than I love you...."
- Paul Simon

Songs like this one -- Paul Simon's, "Father and Daughter" -- songs that you might hear at wedding receptions, during daddy-daughter dances...used to make me ache for a dad of my own.  Someone who would walk me down the aisle, someone I could turn to for advice about cars, and electricity, and how to build a picket fence all by myself.   Someone who would stand up for me against the tyranny of a bully, the bullying of a gossip...someone who believed that I deserved better than my even own hopes and dreams would allow.

I didn't have this.  I watched girlfriends get married and waltz across a parquet floor on the arms of their dads, I listened to brides describe their wedding dresses to doting fathers, I longed to be the fallen toddler on a playground, scooped up into the arms of her protective papa.  

But an afternoon in later winter some years ago, started  a seismic shift in my heart... from one of longing, to one of contentment. 

I was standing outside the large auditorium where our church headquarters...The Mother Church...had hosted an all employees meeting about fiscal integrity, wisdom in economy, and thoughtful spending.   I was feeling deeply grateful to one particular member of our governing Board for expressing such clear "fatherhood," when that same dear  man breezed through the doors, into the soft dusky light of a February afternoon, like a zephyr. 

Seeing me standing out of the wind, in a concrete alcove, he stopped to say hello.  I thanked him for his wise counsel during the meeting and mentioned that I'd been touched by the example of fatherhood he'd given that afternoon. 

He turned to a Bible verse that was engraved in the concrete above my head, it read:

"Hear, ye children, the instruction of a father,
and attend to know understanding."

He reminded me that it, the Word of God, had been there all along, every moment, of every day, in my life.  It had never been inaccessible or unreachable.  It had defended my integrity, defined my place in the world, comforted and supported me.  This man, himself, was a loving father, but you could see that he deeply depended on this truth in the way he trustingly parented his own children.  And in that moment, I could feel that I was no different.  He was giving me the same gift he would have given them.   There was such impersonal, but deeply loving tenderness in his care, and counsel. 

From that day forward, I dove headlong into the Scriptures whenever I felt clingy in my relationships, or neglected by the circumstances that had left me without a dad.  When I felt far away from my mom, without a friend, fearful for my children, or uncertain about the future in my most significant relationships.  I searched the Scriptures, because I knew that it was a reliable place, for me, to find the spiritual substance of my relationships...with my father, my husband, my sisters, my brothers, my friends, my neighbors.

Poetry is my native tongue, the language of my heart...So, here is how my heart boiled down this truth:


"Why don't
you hate him?
she asked
brows furrowed in
a mixture of
consternation and
disbelief.

"You really should
hate him, you know...

no little
girl,  as sweet as
you were,
should be
left...and forgotten...
like that

especially by
someone
she
loved
and trusted.

You really have
every right
to hate
him. 

"But I don't.
I say with
a new
born
innocency

I don't have that
space
left in me
anymore

The space that
was once carved out
by violated trust,
loneliness,
despair,
darkness,
and
confusion.

It is full
again

it is full of
me.

And I am innocent.

I am not
empty...at all.

I am complete...
there is nothing missing,
there is no one missing...

I am
wholly whole,
fully content,
deeply loved,
completely adored,
inviolately free.

and I know it.

"No," I say,
"I don't hate him,
I love him..."

I love him,
because,
it is
who
I
am.

there is a place
beyond
forgiveness...

I think
I will
stay
here....

It will be
my
home

it is
where my
real
Father
lives.

Our children have all been blessed with extraordinary dads...kind, gentle, attentive, selflesh, supportive men who will dance with their daughters...and perhaps even our son...at their weddings.  But it is the sense of God as their Father, that these men have given most generously as gifts, to each of our children, that will make the biggest difference in their lives.  Thank you...

offered with Love,

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"When my bankroll is getting small..."

"When I'm worried and I can't sleep
I count my blessings instead of sheep
And I fall asleep counting my blessings...

When my bankroll is getting small
I think of when I had none at all
And I fall asleep counting my blessings..."
-     Irving Berlin

I grew up singing this song to myself in the middle of the night during all the months between December and, well...December.  Long before home video and DVD copies of Irving Berlin's "White Christmas" were available for any-time-of-the-year viewing, my sister and I would check the television listings in the newspaper, from Thanksgiving weekend on, to find that one showing of White Christmas we could count on each year.  

For me, "Count Your Blessings" was always a prelude to prayer.

Today this song came alive in a pretty well-worn McDonald's restaurant overlooking the Mississippi River. 

My husband and I had driven through the city on a post-Christmas errand, and were both thirsty.  There was a McDonald's.  Perfect.  Since the drive-thru lane was already a dozen cars deep, I suggested we park and go in, thinking we'd have a much better chance of getting back on the road quickly. 

I was wrong.  The line at the counter was eight deep with quite a few folks waiting for their orders to be filled.  It wasn't hard to notice that more than a few customers were in pretty dire financial straits.  Pennies were being carefully counted out, old sweaters/shirts/jackets were layered on six deep, and one man had duct tape wrapped over pairs of doubled-up socks for footwear. 

We placed our order and I went to the drink dispenser while my husband waited for his hot chocolate to be prepared. 

As I stood there, I noticed a young family sitting at the end booth very close to where I was waiting in line to get my drink.  The dad was very, very tired looking and the children--a boy around 10 years old, and a girl about 6 or 7--looked as if they'd been sleeping in their clothes, coats, and hats for days.  But there was also a palpable dignity with which this young father cared for his children.  He reminded them to use their napkins, to say Please and Thank You when passing the small cups of ketchup he'd gotten for them, and to excuse themselves when getting up for more salt.

It wasn't long before the dad himself got up to use the facilities, asking his son to be very watchful of his little sister.  He hadn't been gone long before the little girl asked her brother, "When do you think we will get our Christmas presents?"  Her brother looked quickly in the direction his father had gone, and then said, "This is our Christmas present.  It is all they can afford this year."  "Oh...," said his little sister. 

I looked at their table.  Each child had a simple cheeseburger, a small order of fries, and a milkshake.  Dad had a cup of coffee. 

I was standing there on the verge of weeping when suddenly their father slid back into the booth.  His daughter got up from where she'd been sitting next to her brother, and scooched in next to her dad.  She wrapped both her little arms around his arm, and laid her head against his shoulder and said, "Daddy, this is the best lunch I have ever tasted.  Thank you for bringing us here.  I love you."

I could barely take it all in.  There was such gratitude and grace radiating from that table.  Dad leaned down and kissed the top of his daughter's head, and then he reached across the table with his free hand to cover his son's cold-chapped hand with his larger one. 

I walked away sobered, inspired, shaken, and deeply moved. 

Talk about counting your blessings instead of sheep.  I refilled my drink, returned to where my husband was standing, and leaned into his chest, trying to still the waves of emotion that were on the verge of taking me under.

I wasn't sure if I was more devastated by sadness, or moved with inspiration.  I had learned more about grace in that moment of humility, than from all the Christmas "moments" I had witnessed, read about, or watched during the last few weeks leading up to the "big day."

This year Christmas came in the warm manger of a McDonald's booth, with the light in a child's eyes, the gentle wisdom of a brother's words, and the humility of a father's gift.

I thought about giving them something...money, a gift card...but I realized that this time I needed to be a graceful recipient of their greater gift to me.  

I needed to "receive it, still."  Receive their gift in the stillness of a manger heart.  I needed to honor the dignity of their lives by walking away in silent awe.  My gift to them is a heart filled with prayer, gratitude, and an aching hope that they neither lose the richness of who they are, nor the sweetness of what they gave to me today.

I have no doubt that God will bless their lives with all that they need. Just look at what He gave me today in their example. It was more than I could ever have hoped.

Thank you for Your unspeakable gifts...
Kate

"I will lift my eyes to You..."

"Your kindness is what pulls me up
Your love is all that draws me in...

I will lift my eyes to the Maker
of the mountains I can't climb.
I will lift my eyes to the Healer
of the hurt I hold inside.
I will lift my eyes,
lift my eyes to You..."

As I sat in the dentist's chair, these words from "I Will Lift My Eyes," actually did allow me to lift my eyes, and my entire being, above the sounds and sensations that seemed to be screaming, not just at, or around, me...but right inside my head.   Yet, instead of thinking about past dental traumas, I thought about Him.  The One who made me perfect, peaceful, and at rest in His love.  It was my Father's tenderness that held me aloft.

I thought about His love for each of us, and how deeply His sweet voice plumbs, and penetrates, the noise of our day with an unspeakable peace.  A peace that passeth all understanding. 

As I sat there, I realized that I really didn't need to know what the dentist was doing, what she was finding, or when she would be done.  I could trust that she was wisely and lovingly being guided by a divine Hand, in the execution of her craft. While I only needed to listen to my Father's gentle message of "I am with you." As His voice of spiritual reason...all the reasons why I had nothing to fear...calmed my concerns, I discovered that His voice, whispering, "peace, be still," was louder than the hum and whirr of any dental instruments, pulsing stream of water, or high-speed drill. 

With the help of my husband's gentle encouragement,  I was able to actually sit through what had, up to that point, been one of my greatest fears with soft, unclenched hands, and relaxed feet.  No tensely curled toes, no tightly gripped armrests, no holding my breath till I was ready to gasp for air.  I even laughed....just a bit.

At one point an angel whispered, "If God be with me, this dental chair is become a soft bed with cool cotton sheets, and the hum of the drill has become the soft murmur of a "river of His pleasures."  And the rest, just shifting clouds.....

Here is the poem that flowed from that river of His presence:  

Sometimes
I spin a cocoon
of soft soft sheets
and worn
quilts

I wrap myself in
silence
and the white
sounds of
my breathing

in
and
out...

in
and out...

my breath
becomes one with Yours..

in and out,
in and out...

we softly sing...

I let the rhythm
of Your speech
patterns
slow the
pace of my
thinking

Be still
BE still
be STILL
be
still

b
e

s
t
i
l
l

I am
suspended in
the
space of
trusting
You to
do all
the talking,
whispering,
singing,
humming,
breathing...

I have finally given
up my words,
given up my
answers,
and
surrendered
to the sweet sounds of
your silence

I am being
prayed
by
You

I am
nothing
but
what I
see You
do

I am
that
I AM
that
You
are....

only You
in this
space
not even
the
me I thought
I was.

only You...

It's only ever
been
You
within
each moment...

In the silence
I am
reduced
to
the essence
of being

I am
only
You.

in
and
out...

in
and
out....

in
and
out...

It was a very special day for my Dad and me.  My divine Father sat with me, held my heart, softly whispered His love for me, and let me know that I was "cared for, watched over, beloved, and protected" in His arms...and in my husband's silent prayers of support.  And with them, a dentist's chair became a place of peace...

Or as Mary Baker Eddy promises us:

"The very circumstance,
which your suffering sense deems wrathful and afflictive,
Love can make an angel entertained unawares."

I love the way she so beautifully paints with words, the landscape of Spirit...

always,

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"Daddy here I am again..."

"Daddy here I am again,
Will you take me back tonight?
I went and made the world my friend,
and it left me high and dry."
- Casting Crowns

I was listening to Casting Crowns' "Prodigal," and remembered a daydream I'd had a few weeks ago. A daydream in which the parable of the Prodigal Son (from the 15th chapter of Luke's gospel) came to life for me in a new way, and gave me new questions to consider. Don't you just love it when that happens? 

As an aside, did you know that the word "prodigal" never appears in the King James' version of the Bible?  I discovered that the word means, "having or giving something on a lavish scale," and that this word we so quickly associate with an errant, selfish boy, actually has its root in the Latin word, "prodigus" which means "lavish."   I'm thinking that I might want to consider reclaiming this word for God, and calling it the parable of the Pridigal Father, as the one who lavishes understanding and compassion on his family.

Anyway, back to my daydream.  In it, I was standing at the end of a dusty road, quietly listening to a conversation between the boy's father and mother.  Her heart was afraid of his hope...afraid of how it might disappoint him...and her.

Come in old man...

He is
gone.

Left
long ago
with his
portion...

I send your meals
to you as
you sit here
waiting...why?

You have a son...
a faithful son,
a good boy, 
one who works beside you,
and asks for nothing

Can't you see how
he
waits for your
attention,
a place in your heart...
while you
wait at the end of the road
searching the
horizon
for
some sign of
the errant one.

Let him go.
Let him be a feckless
child...
wasting
his
substance on
wine, and women,
and games of chance in the
town square.

I cannot let him go.
He is
precious in my sight.
He is
a prince...to me.
He is fighting for his
life...
for his right to
live with
passion...and 
personal vision.

I know he may have
made mistakes,
but he is trying
to make us
proud of him
by doing it all
himself,
all that
he thinks
we think
he
could not do without
our help.

We taught him to
trust his heart...
and our God. 
Now, we need to trust
our God
and His love for him
completely.

Yes, you are right,
he does not
choose my fields today.
He does not
want to stand beside me
in rows
of
barley
counting
ephah of grain.

But he only asked for
the portion he thought was
his birthright,
and the freedom to
explore his
talents
with
out
my
oversight,
or his brother
weighing in.

I may not understand
his path,
but
he is still
our son.

He is still the boy
you sang to sleep.
He is still the boy
whose laughter I love to hear
as it dances
in the wind, and swirls around
me as I work...making my
day lighter, and my
heart smile.

He is still our son's
brother.

I
know you,
wait for him,
too. 
I see you standing by the well,
shielding your eyes from the
sun,
as you scan the horizon
for a sign.
We can trust
that
the Father of us all
has
a plan,
a reason,
a purpose for him...
is teaching him grand lessons...
humility,
courage,
grace...and will
guide  him
safely
home.

I will be watching.
I will be waiting.
I want to hear his story.

I want to
see his face
Hear his voice
Watch him weep in your arms.
Hug his brother.
Share his story....
so others will
not be afraid
to come home.

"Not all who wander
are
lost."

from one who as been waited for...with Love,

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"Not all who wander are lost."  -  J.R Tolkein

"My life would suck without You..."

"...'Cause we belong together now, yeah
Forever united here somehow, yeah
You've got all of me
And honestly,
My life would suck without you..."
-     Kelly Clarkson

It was one of those amazingly gorgeous October Saturdays.  The sky was as blue as a robin's egg and the leaves were almost irridescent with color, and incandescent with light.  We were all sitting on folding spectator chairs in a clearing surrounded by cornfields, watching hundreds of children competing in the Belleville Fall Invitational Soccer tournament.  But each of us, had eyes only for "our girls."

The setting was really quite surreal. Mud-soaked soccer fields packed with young athletes dressed in primary colored uniforms.  They were miniature warriors in shin-guards and matching long socks, the scent of drying cornhusks wafting across us on a cool breeze, and the sound of...well, actually, pop music blaring from speakers set up throughout the sports complex.   But I was sitting with Vickie and her husband, Josh, so it was all good.  With them, everything takes on a new lightness...a joy...which provided just the right environment for listening to these songs with "new ears."

Vickie's daughter, Jordan, is one of the goalies on Emma and Clara's team and I love to sit next to her as we watch our girls fly from back and forth across the field.  Vickie makes me laugh...hard.  She is one of the funniest women I have ever met.  She has a GREAT laugh and a wonderful way of looking at the world.   Her laughter diffuses the competitive tension of watching our daughters throw their all, and everything, into each second of every single moment of those 30 minute halves.  I think I'd leave those games trembling from the sheer stress of watching even just one game that goes into overtimes and shootouts, much less two...if it weren't for Vickie's light-hearted good humor.

When Kelly Clarkson's "My Life Would Suck Without You" came on over the loudspeakers, my first thought was, "oh my gosh, how inappropriate, and what an imposition!"  But as readers of this blog know, I am all about reclaiming lyrics for God.  So I just sat with this song for a while waiting for God to show me how he was truly the only cause and creator of everything...even that song.   And you know...He did (not for all of the lyrics in this song...but the chorus is all His now...for me). I realized, that in that moment, my life did not suck at all.  It was a perfectly wonderful moment.  I was sitting in the sunshine with my older daughter (who had just returned from South Africa) on one side and a friend who made me laugh on the other, watching our twins do what they love most.  Does it get any better? 

But I had to admit that it was this suggestion of life's suckiness, just what had been screaming at me for the entire drive to Belleville.  I had been wallowing in the murcky waters of:  It sucked that Jeff had to be in Boston instead of on the soccer field coaching the girls...something he loved doing.  It sucked that the girls had four hours between games and had had to come back and forth (an hour each way) twice in one day.  And on and on the suggestions spewed themselves all over my gorgeous fall day, like spilled coffee on a gorgeous watercolor painting.

That was when I started to love this Kelly Clarkson song.  I happily realized, sitting there in the heavenly space of Vickie's laughter, Josh's all-around-good-guy-ness, Chris's laid-back good humor, and my daughter's company, that even though I missed my husband...alot, and I was still pretty doggone far from being, or having a life that was, humanly perfect, the only thing my life would really suck without, was (and is) God.  And since I never, ever, think that His, God's, absence is a possibility, my prospects for a pretty sweet life are golden.  In that moment, I was as sure of His presence in my life, as I was sure of my love for my daughters.  In fact it is my love for my daughters that is always one of the most sure and irrefutable signs of Her, God's, presence in my life...and as my life. More than any other one thing I have ever known.  And I know it in the deepest and most true part of my being.

Yes, but that was easy.  God's presence as Motherhood is so intrinsic to how I see my own life actually being the moment by moment expression of divinity as humanity.  But Saturday,  it was  remembering God's presence as Father that really broke the spell of human suck-iness. Mary Baker Eddy says that:

"As our ideas of Deity become more spiritual, we express them by objects more beautiful. ... Thus it is that our ideas of divinity form our models of humanity."

This statement has helped me realize that it is my concept of God as Father, that has most transformed the way I see myself as a daughter, a woman, a wife, a mother, a friend, a global neighbor.

As a child I attributed every "I can't", "I will never be...", "I am just not worthy of..." as truth, all because I didn't have "my own" father in my life. I lived in an almost, but never quite, fairytale space where I had a wonderful mother who loved me and a stepfather who took good care of me, but I would never really be all I could be...a special someone, a princess, a prized daughter, a successful woman...because my birthfather had chosen to disengage from my life when I was just a little girl. I would always be a step-something, second best, tolerable, the one to be "okay with" having around, but never the precious one, the first choice, the beloved. Not that my dad (my stepdad) treated me that way...I just always thought it was the way it must have been for him, in light of all I'd seen about step-parents in Disney movies, which I now know to be completely untrue. I am a step-parent myself today, and I love all of our children equally. And my husband has taught me, through his love and devotion to my children, that love knows no biological hierarchy, is not validated by time, and cannot be interrupted by distance or strengthened by proximity.

But this is a hard won perspective, as a child and young woman, I harbored fantasies in which a white-night father figure would swoop in and tell me I actually was his princess (it never mattered to me that there were a million other princesses whose fathers were their kings, I just wanted to be somebody's princess) and he had a kingdom waiting for me to feel special in.    "If only..." plagued my sense of myself...my strengths, my opportunitites and my options for many years. 

It wasn't until I was in my late thirties that I discovered,  that I did, in fact, have a wonderful, attentive, caring, affectionate, adoring Father who was real, knowable, present, and involved in my life.  God.  God became for me, what He had always been...my one and only Father.  My real daddy.  My Abba.  My papa.  My King.

So last Saturday,  as I sat there in the sweetness of laughter, friendship, sunshine and motherhood, all of this flooded my heart and I couldn't help but sing along, "My life would suck without You!!!"

And it would. 

Without my Father, God, I would not have the confidence to try new things without fear of failing.  That would suck. 

Without Him I would not have been able to survive my daughter traveling around the world to South Africa, to live for three years, with no promise of her ever returning.

Without Him I would not be able to sleep peacefully on those nights when Emma and Clara are not upstairs in their beds, but four miles away in their beds at their dad's house.

Without Him I would never be able to do what I love...taking calls or appointments from patients and clients seeking spiritual care...with confidence in His ability, not mine to bring them answers, healing, comfort, and peace.  I am only there to remind them of His presence in their lives too.

Without Him I would never be able to sit on the sidelines watching my daughters compete in a contact sport...without fear.

Without Him I would never have been able to watch campers go on three-day overnights where they would climb 14,000 foot mountains, raft raging rivers, mountain bike across high country ridges, and ride horses above tree-line...and not experience one moment of worry or concern.

Without Him, I would not feel at peace with my husband, my best friend, living and working in a distant city...at peace only because we know  that it was God who "called him according to His purpose" in serving our church whose stated mission is "to reinstate primitive Christianity and its lost element of healing."

Without You, dear Father, I would not be able to get up each morning and face a brand new day trusting in your love for your children, your forgiveness when we falter, your mercy when we fall, your tenderness in lifting us up, and often, your willingness to carry us in your strong arms.

And these are just the first few things that flew out of my fingers, across the keyboard and onto the screen within moments...and I know that there are an infinite number of ways that my life is peaceful, blessed, satisfied, joyful, trust-filled because of You.

Without you...my life would suck.  I am so grateful I never have to live my life without You.  I know I have a Father who will never leave me.  I have a Father who, in the santuary of our relationship, has eyes only for me.  We all do. We are all precious in His sight.

Thank you Papa.

your daughter...your princess,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

[photo credit:  Hollister Thomas 2009]